


Sundive

by charlesleeray



Category: Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy - Douglas Adams, The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy (TV 1981)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Tragedy, Beta Read, British Character, Canon Compliant, Character Death, Doctor Who References, Goodbyes, Grief/Mourning, HP Lovecraft Reference, I Will Go Down With This Ship, I Wrote This While Listening to the Front Bottoms, I made stuff up, I meant to say Bi Character but that works too, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Leaving, Loss, M/M, Outer Space, SO, Sad, Sad Ending, Sharing Clothes, Ultimate Sacrifice, Unfortunate Implications, but i am a menace to society, the only reason this didn’t happen in canon was because they needed a happy ending, you can pry my italics from my cold dead hands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-26
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-14 12:20:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29542266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charlesleeray/pseuds/charlesleeray
Summary: Ford and Zaphod steal Disaster Area’s stunt ship, with one small difference— Marvin doesn’t go with them.“No, someone’ll have to stay behind and operate it manually. Whoever it was would—“ Ford stuttered, something he didn’t normally do, trying to find the softest way to tell the lot of them that one would die. Trillian did it for him.“Wouldn’t, uh... escape.”
Relationships: Arthur Dent/Ford Prefect
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	Sundive

**Author's Note:**

> Alternatively titled, "I Love You, Ford Prefect, and I Cannot Bring Myself to Refer to You in the Past Tense."
> 
> There are implications that Ford had wanted to die, which is why the "Implied Suicide" tag is there. It's mostly skippable, but be safe!

While the Hitchhiker’s Guide had many a thing to say about Disaster Area and their unpractical way of making waves, the entry on “Ultimate Sacrifice” is almost empty. The only words that grace the page are these: **If you must, make sure everyone remembers you.**

Currently, the group of four were anxiously pacing a sleek black spaceship, trying to figure out where in the hell this thing was going— and with no luck. Ford was up in the rafters, held up by only his arms, and Trillian was looking back and forth from the locked controls, anxiously waiting for him to fall. When he did, he landed as a cat would— of course, this was if the cat had no righting reflex. He hit the floor, head first, and cursed.

“Ah, _photon_!” Trillian grabbed his hand, lifting him up from the floor.

“There’s nothing up there?”

“Well, I was up there. For a second.” But he shook his head, and the pair turned to Arthur and Zaphod.

“So,” Arthur started. “Who’s ship is this?”

“Mine.”

“It’s not yours, you just stole it!”

“Which is theft?” Zaphod tapped the side of his head. “Theft, which is property. Thus, this is _my_ property.”

“If it’s yours, why don’t you talk to it?” Ford chimed in. “It’ll listen better to you then to us, it would seem.” He tapped the walls, motioning for Zaphod to say something. 

"Ship! This is your new owner speaking to you-"

Zaphod's unconvincing speech was cut short by a sharp screech of feedback, sending everyone with ears to the ground. Arthur, being the most sensitive of them, only regained his hearing a few seconds later. Someone was speaking-- a new voice, filtered over a radio-- giving instructions. Unfortunately, the only words he heard were "Stand by for sundive."

"Sundive," Arthur repeated. "Ford, what does sundive mean?"

"Well-- and this is just guessing-- but I think it means we're going to dive into the sun."

Trillian spoke up, putting a hand on Zaphod's shoulder. "Now, who in their right mind would set a ship to fly into the sun?"

"I can think of many," Ford replied, earning a light smack on the head. "Arthur, do you still have the Guide?"

Arthur reached into his bathrobe pockets, pulling the guide out and showing it to the group.

"Look up sundive. Should be under Shoggoth."

"Can't find it."

"Slitheen, then."

The Guide beeped twice, then flashed to a page bearing an illustration of the sun. "A sundive," Arthur reads, "is Disaster Area's way of bringing attention to themselves in the most unenvironmentally sane way possible-- send a flying ship into the sun of a nearby planet. The impact causes an explosion visible from the planet the concert is being held on. While an extraordinary feat, it is wildy detrimental to the galaxy around them. Disaster Area, of course, does not care."

"Disaster Area?" Ford popped up from behind Arthur, grabbing the Guide. "This is their ship?"

"I don't believe it."

"You'd better." Trillian was already on the other side, looking under panels and doohickeys and whatever had a latch. "We're on a countdown."

The ship was slowly getting warmer, causing Zaphod to roll up his sleeves and let out a quite annoying whine of, "So let's get off this ship!". Both him Ford rushed to the cockpit, pushing eachother out of the way to click at the controls. Arthur met up with Trillian, watching the two cousins inspect every crevice and corner twice.

"We're not going to die," Trillian spoke up. "We'll find a way."

"Well, you did steal that awfully big ship. How did you manage to do that, anyways?"

She simply smiled. "Trust'll get you far." 

Arthur could still see the fear wavering in her voice, though it was a tad more confident than his. He looked past her, distracting himself from impending doom with the hundreds of words etched into the wall-- they were company names. He thought it was stupid to be putting your name on something that was going to blow up anyways, and instead focused on a piece of yellowed paper that hung from some double-sided tape. It said, in bold letters, " **OUT OF ORDER** ".

"Bollocks," Arthur muttered to himself, and lifted the paper up. In even bolder letters, the wall read, " **TELEPORT**."

He read over the sentence again, and again. Bit his tongue in thought, then turned to Zaphod and Ford.

"What does teleport mean?"

Zaphod's two heads whipped around. "What did you say?"

As Ford unconventionally fell down from the rafters for a second time, Arthur reiterated his statement. "Teleport. It's under this out of order sign." He thumbed the button, and a door built into the wall slid open.

"Those donkeys! Those absolute sodding-- we can get out of here!" Ford, holding his bruised arm from two consecutive falls, took Arthur's place at the helm. "Yes! Yes, it seems okay-- it's just the automatic guidance-- wherever we're going, it's seems somebody's cocked up." 

'Who cares where we're going!" Upon hearing this, Ford gave Zaphod a look that told him _I care. I care a lot._ "Let's just go!" 

“No, someone’ll have to stay behind and operate it manually. Whoever it was would—“ Ford stuttered, something he didn’t normally do, trying to find the softest way to tell the lot of them that one would die. Trillian did it for him. “Wouldn’t, uh... escape.”

The ship fell silent. Awkward glances were glanced, and fearful stares were stared, but nobody dared to speak up.

“So, this is it? We’re going to die?”

“One of us is, you mammalian monkey. Keep up.”

Zaphod snapped his fingers, crawling into the little compartment. "Last one in has to stay, yeah?"

"I don't necessarily agree with that," Trillian said, yet she was the second in the compartment. Both Arthur and Ford stood at the entrance, looking wearily at each other.

"You go," Ford said.

"What? No."

"What, yes!" He took Arthur by the arm, shoving him in the chamber. "Listen to me, Arthur-- I've seen whole galaxies, planets, stars that don't even have names-- if anyone here has lived their whole life, it's me." Zaphod nuzzled into the corner like he was trying not to be seen. "You've only seen Earth, and what a planet that was!"

"Can't you work it from within the compartment?" 

"Negative. You've got the Guide, don't you?" He now blocked the entrance, making sure Arthur couldn't forcefully stay in the ship. "You can go find yourself a pretty little planet to spend your awkwardly short lifespan on." There was hesitation between the hopeful smile and Arthur's hands cupping his cheek, trying to bide their time. 

"Ford, I don't want you to go." 

In a sense, Ford knew he didn't just mean that as someone who knew nothing about the universe, but as someone who wanted to stay with him. _It would've been nice_ , he thought, _to have spent just a bit more time with Arthur_.

"I'm not going anywhere. You are!"

Before Arthur could leave, or even tell him to shut up, Ford took him by the collar and kissed him. This didn’t happen to be a goodbye kiss, which tend to be long and passionate, but a short kiss-- one that says, “ _Honey, I’m just heading to the store. I'll be back in a few minutes."_

Ford wanted to give him a long kiss, one that said _"We'll meet again, but for now, let this last."_ But short kisses were all he had, and he pushed Arthur back into the teleportation chamber as quickly as he pulled him out. He quickly relieved himself of his satchel and jacket, not merely handing but throwing them to Arthur, hoping they would go with him.

The last word Arthur ever said to Ford was, “Ford.” He had said his name in hopes of stalling him, of giving him a better chance to clear his head and think of a way to get out with them, but the whirring was too strong for Ford to even hear this. Another glance, in which he made eye contact with Arthur-- and, unfortunately, Zaphod’s second head-- and he hit a few buttons, giving Arthur that same damn smirk that sent whole species into a frenzy. This "Ford!" was louder, much more desperate, and it clung to his clothes, pulling him back. It buried its face in his vest, stained it with tears, and hugged him. 

He closed his eyes and pressed the big, red button. There was something of a zap, an electrical shock, raising the hair on his neck and blinding him for a few good moments. Ford steeled himself, grabbing onto the controls and steadying his legs. 

Just like that, he was alone. On the slim chance he would be saved, he wouldn't know where the three had gone. 

“It’s getting quite hot in here,” said the ship, in a voice Ford knew very well.

“Didn’t notice.” He realized quickly that the voice was his own conscious, taunting him.

“Any last words?”

“I love you, Arthur Dent.” Or rather, “ _IloveyouArthurDent_.”, because there were only a few seconds until impact, and he didn’t want the Universe to think of another Arthur-- no, this was for Arthur Dent. His last, fleeting thought was the same, along with-- “I wonder if they have that drink I like in Heaven?”, and then, for the second time in a few hours, his life flashed before his eyes-- and it was, in all sense of the word, generous.

There was Arthur, pulling him out of the way of a car, and there was their beer expedition before the world ended. All the laughs, the close touches and the sensation of just being there with him, it was all there-- Ford smiled. And he liked how the sun felt, all big and brash and burning, and Ford decided that he would tell Arthur about it when he saw him again.

The ground was cold, and rightfully so. Arthur had been laying there for a while, the rusted cogs turning in his brain, mulling over the events that had transpired. 

Ford had sacrificed himself for them. It didn't feel real-- and with that being said, nothing had felt real since Earth. Maybe it had been a dream-- he went to sleep quite late last night, and usually had this crackpot dreams when he was tired. To test his theory, which he adamantly hoped was real, Arthur propped himself up on the walls, bringing his knees to his chest. He pulled his sleeve up, and with a stuttered, "God!", he twisted the skin on his arm.

Nothing. There was no dreariness, no sudden bright lights-- in fact, he would've been happy if Ford was standing above him, about to explain that they had just fallen asleep on the Heart of Gold, and that everything was alright, and that he could go back to sleep-- he would be right there when Arthur woke up. It would've been nice to have woken up to a cup of tea, too.

But there was no tea in the dreary hallway where he sat, and there was definitely no Ford, either. All there was was emptiness, and the simplest thought in his brain that made him tense up.

It had come to him in a sort of flurry, the way seagulls surround you on the beach when you hold out a fry. The thought itself wasn’t all that bad, but as he traced the letters with figurative fingertips, spelled it out and broadcast it, he eventually dove into a small puddle of madness.

Ford had wanted to die.

It was now apparent, in the way he had looked at Arthur, that he didn’t have a second thought about it. In fact, the whole reason he was afraid at the start was for their lives, not his. He loved them, Zaphod and Trillian and Marvin and— hell, and maybe even Eddie— but did he love himself? Arthur wanted to think so, but the evidence piled up against him.

Ford’s jacket was still limp in his hands, and it smelt of all the things that made him _wonderful_. Gingerly taking off his bathrobe, Arthur slid his arms into the jacket’s. It felt like a particularly warm hug, and there was still a packet of peanuts in the pocket. Granted, they were open, but there were still some left. He popped one in his mouth. Somehow, it tasted like Ford, even if the man had never even been close enough to him to even entertain the idea. Despite their fleeting kiss, it was still fleeting, and his lips now were dry and stern. He put two fingers up to his mouth, trying to remember how it felt. He would never say it out loud, but he had liked it.

Would’ve liked it even better if Ford hadn’t died afterwards.

There were tears streaming down his face now, and he strained to stop crying. At first, he gambled with the thought-- kiss, kissing him, kissing Ford-- and it made his stomach twist. It came to him that he was in love with Ford, and had fallen right in love with him again before he died. 

“I’ll miss you,” Arthur said to no one in particular. 

The silence replied back, “If i remember you, I promise to miss you too.”


End file.
